Tears

I awoke this morning with this song in my head, and it’s created a tailspin of memories.

 

I don’t know why it was in my head. I haven’t heard it for years. But it was very firmly stuck on a loop in my mind.

I first heard this song when I was about ten, I think. It may not have been this version. I remember falling in love with the lyrics, and feeling like they could have been written about me. I think a small part of the ten-year-old me believed they were.

I learned at a very early age that tears were not acceptable. Actually, there was more than one reason why. My grandfather, firstly. (He always seems to work his way into first place, doesn’t he?) I don’t know exactly when I decided to stop giving him the satisfaction of seeing me cry, or begging him to stop. It was shortly after my sixth birthday. I remember that because Percy, my purple teddy bear, was still brand new, and I got him when I was six. I made a promise to myself to never let the monster see me cry again. I understood how much he got off on it. And so I stopped. I toughened up.

My dad comes second in the story of my lack of tears. He had no time for weakness, probably because it was the thing he hated most about himself. He told me on many occasions that I had to be a good girl and not cause any trouble. When I cried, he would mimic me. God, I hadn’t thought of that in a lot of years. It’s brought a lump to my throat right now. He belittled my fears and sadness by making fun of me. That’s so sad. He also told me that if I cried a lot or made a fuss or did anything vaguely naughty, he would take me to the children’s home and leave me there. I believed him with all of my heart.

I also couldn’t cry because of Mum. I don’t blame her for this. But she was always ill, and I had to be a grown-up five-year old and look after her. I was not allowed to upset her in any way, for fear of making her sicker.

So, I didn’t cry. At least, like this song; not out loud. Actually, I don’t think I really cried on the inside. I stopped feeling everything, except for fear. The world became a terrifying place. Nowhere was safe. Everything was always at stake. I felt on the brink of losing it all.

I saw a counsellor for a little while a few years ago. She told me I was the only patient she’d ever seen who didn’t cry once. Counselling, she said, is a fairly wet business. But I couldn’t cry.

When Dad died in 2007, something shifted. I cried for, like, a year. The slightest memory of him could send me into uncontrollable sobbing. I was an emotional wreck. I stayed really emotional for a few years after he died. I remember watching ‘The Green Mile’ and crying for about two hours after it finished! It was like I was making up for the decades of no tears. It was ugly.

Today, I am married to a wonderful man who I love with all my heart. But he criticised my tears so much that they are once again hidden. I feel them inside, bubbling under the surface. But that’s where they stay. It makes him angry if I express any sadness at random things (like TV shows or songs). I think it’s because he’s afraid of sadness. Anger is a much easier emotion for a man to feel.

Well, this was not the blog post I had planned for today. It’s been rather self-centred. But, it’s helped to write about it, so I guess that’s good, right? I’m sure there are people out there who can relate to this. To you all, I say: cry. If you need to cry, then do it. You’re emotions are yours to do with as you wish, and if that means having a good cry, then do it. Cry out loud!

 

The New Home

I wrote this piece of flash as a response to the challenge of writing a 100 word story.

Frail Hands

 

The New Home

Breaking glass shatters my thoughts.

“Who’s there?”

Silence. My heart thrums, reverberating inside my head. Why are they torturing me? Grabbing Steve’s baseball thingy, I creep toward the sound.

The cooking room, that’s where they are. I push the door open and catch her red-handed. “Stay where you are, I’m calling the police!”

“Mum, it’s me, Claire. Put the bat away.”

“No, stop trying to trick me. You’re here to—“ The words get lost somewhere inside my mind. Why can’t I remember?

“Oh, Mum. Let’s get you to bed. You’re just over-excited about your new home.”

 

another me

I started writing this poem a few months ago, but only got a couple of verses in before my attention wandered to other projects. This morning, with my depressive head screwed firmly on, I finished it.

another me

Lost Sadness

in another life
when i was another me
i wore perfume every day
dressed in heels
femininity bubbling
i spoke to people and
looked in their eyes

in another life
when i was a lighter me
i smiled for
no reason
my body zinged with
energy and zeal
a social butterfly rarely
faltering

in another life
when i was a confident me
i went out at night
and partied well
until the
tiredness
came and glued me to the wall
like a fly breaking its wings
on sticky paper

in another life
when i was a happier me
i had parents and
they told me of their lives
dad’s love of music
mum’s love in her arms
a kiss atop my head
filled with love and
safety

in another life
when i still had a fraction of me
i had identities
a daughter
employee
friend
carer
titles erased
leave bottomless holes

in this life
which is losing the last of me
i watch the world
as it dances around my edges
but i’m all out of moves
i’ve been hiding so long
i’m not really here any more

i want

My headspace has not been good this last week or so. I mean, it’s rarely great, but right now, it’s crippling me. I decided to try to write it out, as this sometimes help. It made me cry, which I hate. So, I’m sharing it with you guys because I know there are a lot of you who understand ~ Rachel.

       i want

a-mothers-hug-shaz-aslam

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

i want my Mum
(spoken from a middle-aged waste-of-space),
someone to hold me,
say it’s okay,
a moment of feeling
i am enough—
no matter what
(even when i know i’m not)

lavender hugs,
able to stabilise the most f r a c t u r e d
of hearts . . .
i want her arms,
no matter how out-of-shape,
tears sting my
cheeks,
blasting trails through the dirt and
p a i n,
my branding lays me   b a  r  e,
and i wait to be flogged for my sins

fear swallows me,
snuffing the lights that
have been keeping me
from letting go,
i don’t know what to do,
nails broken, faith stolen,
his voice
his voice

so sick of fighting
when here is where my destiny lies,
he took me then, and
he takes me now

i hate the dark